Well, fortunately I have managed to prevail over this total B.S., but not before going to various absurd lengths to do so. Here's the whole story:
I get the notice of charges in my campus mailbox, saying that I couldn't collect my package until I paid the imposed fees on it. I call the phone number listed. Busy. Call back again. Busy. Repeat for two days. Finally I get the person on the phone, who passes the blame to Customs, who can tax anything for whatever they like and the postal service cannot contest their taxing, only collect it as ordered. I demanded to speak with who was in charge of this bulls**t, and get the complaint line for British Customs...
...which is of course a purposefully designed dead-end line that is ALWAYS busy. You can get your taxes and duties back, IF AND ONLY IF YOU CAN GET THROUGH TO THEM. Four days later of continuous busy signals and recorded messages I did.
Upon getting a guy on the phone I explained my situation and confirmed that in fact it was my own personal belongings that I had in fact owned before coming over to England. Two possible options existed: either I could pay the money up front and fill out forms and have the money sent to me within three weeks (by which time my time over here would be over and though I'd have the money back I'd not be able to use it over here), or have Parcelforce send the package back through Customs to be reinspected and the tax stamp on it voided, which could take months. Naturally I bit down hard and went to the ATM to take out the cash, to get this crap over with finally...
...or so I thought.
It so happens the Parcelforce depot is way across town, requiring £4.90 ($7.50 US) to get to the train station, then another £4 ($6) to the town of St. Albans. From there I tried to get directions; no way was I going to pay more money JUST TO GET TO A POINT TO PAY OUT MORE MONEY. So I call for directions to walk from the station, and talk to people along the way on how to get there from where I was, presumably closer than when I was before. Naturally it was damn mess. After four and a half hours of searching I gave up; lost, tired, and pissed off I headed back to the train station, all the time and money being for nothing.
I called again after the weekend, explaining that I tried to get there to pay the £131 and just couldn't. THEN ANOTHER ANNOYING PROBLEM CAME UP. The bill was for over £100. THEIR WORKERS AREN'T AUTHORIZED TO COLLECT OVER £100. But they couldn't let it go for less than the £131 they were ordered to collect... They could be ordered to collect ANY amount, sometimes thousands, BUT COULDN'T OFFICIALLY ACCEPT IT. Company policy. What exactly was I to do about this? I hadn't seen any need to bring my checkbook with me, and they couldn't take credit cards. So the only option was to get a money order or banker's draft, which among other inconveniences would COST MORE MONEY. Oh well, I didn't want another day of this donkey crap, so off to the bank I went.
Only to find that banks can't do banker's drafts for anyone that doesn't have an account at their bank. I had only 15 stinkin' days left in the country...and needed to open a bank account for this?! Forget it. Off I go to the post office to get a money order. After waiting in line there for an hour I find out that they can only be done to a limit of £20 or £30...so I'd need to get multiple ones to add up to £130, which I concluded that since Parcelforce hadn't mentioned them as being acceptable I wasn't going to throw my money away for it. I would just have to tell them about this and hope they'd understand.
I once again hop the Underground then the train to St. Albans, repeating all costs as before, which takes over an hour but it seemed fast compared to the rest of the crap I'd had to put up with so far. I call on the phone to get the depot's address, thank them, and take a deep breath to keep myself from launching into a tirade about their minds, mothers, fathers, ancestors, procreating habits of all the above, and everything else I could pepper with explitives till I turn blue in the face. Take a taxi. All the other money was useless if I tried withholding the fare for a taxi there; I'd never find it on my own, not after the previous time so clearly illustrated that not only was I in a totally unfamiliar place with unfamiliar road layout, but also I would be so tired and enraged that I couldn't possibly think clearly enough to figure it out. I go AGAIN, for the last time I swear to myself, to the ATM and get some extra backing in case the ride is longer than what leftover money I had from the previous trip plus cashed in traveler's checks plus cashed in French francs leftover from a trip a couple weeks before.
Fortunately the cab ride was swift, the driver friendly and educated which made for relieving conversation, and the location correct. I went in, explained my situation and the lady knew who I was and that I tried. She asked if I could get her the cash, to which I elatedly answered I'd had it for over a week and forked it over as fast as my hands could move. Aaah...my package. Finally no more ghost haunting me, leaving me free to hop over to the paintball shop, pick up some paint, and go play.
Or so I thought till I got to the shop and gassed it up. I WAS PERFECTLY IN BETWEEN HUMILIATED AND PISSED OFF. For some reason it wouldn't work normally, not recocking when firing, or firing out of time after a few shots then not at all. It turns out after looking at everything I hadn't seen the obvious -- the ram was bent down. Upon taking it off, it couldn't be pushed and pulled back and forth without rigorous effort, hardly what would work with low pressure air. Two days later a ram came in for it, costing over £40. Even with putting the new ram on it, it was still completely thrown out of time and will now be sent back to the maker as soon as I get back to the States.
At very least the package had insurance, which I will collect for not only the damage, but the time, trouble, frustration, humilation, and other consequential expenses. And hopefully I'll get that refund from Customs soon. No way in hell am I settling for less than that.
